We're All Mad Here
by Naria Lacour de Fanel
Summary: A tiny ficlet involving Grell and his senses. M/M


Title: We're All Mad Here

Author: Naria Lacour de Fanel

Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji nor any of the characters mentioned, they are the property of the mighty manga-ka Toboso Yana! I do porny things to them.

Warnings: Boom boom sexy time! Yes! Between menfolk with _penises_! Beware het lovers!

Rating: R, for implied SEX! and strangeness...

Pairing: "Someone we all know and love"/ Grell

A/N: Still saddened by the lack of Grell lovin', I decided to remedy that at my husband's insistence since he got tired of my bitching and moaning. Whee. I had actually written this almost a year ago and forgot about it. Hmm.

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It had begun with snide comments, and it had quickly turned into something dark and violent. He had quickly been stripped of his strength, as well as his clothing…left in darkness.

His world went completely black. Fear. Awareness. Sensitivity. He could only rely on his other senses:

Smell.

The scent of sweat from their wild struggle. The tang of wet metal, slicked by who knows what body fluids… smoke from an oil lamp…the unmistakable musk of arousal…And the out of place smell of crushed rose petals. They were intended to be a gift, but they had been ruthlessly cast aside and trampled on in their rough tussle...crushed into the bed…

Taste.

The taste of recently shed blood coated his tongue, mingled with the tang of rose water. Velvety petals dipped in the essence of life: blood. So delicately were they placed on his awaiting tongue. So much more rich, so much sweeter, and so much more sinful than blasé chocolate. He ate them greedily.

Sound.

Harsh breaths, the rustle of sheets, the clink of chains…an occasional rumbling moan. Deep hisses and warnings to behave growl over the wanton moans coming from his own mouth. Banter was long ago forgotten for the sake of pleasure.

Feel.

Gouges in his back…melted candle wax cooling on his abused chest, harsh metal digging into his wrists and ankles, and a rough tongue along his inner thigh…among other things…The rough insanity that came from staving off his burgeoning release! And the inevitable, indescribable bliss of reaching that pinnacle of pleasure with the man he loved above all else!

Grell sighs with contentment remembering all that had happened.

Hands that had just been torturing (and consequently pleasuring) him beyond his limits gently caress his face. He involuntarily flinches back, but is soothed by the soft touches. The fingers glide across his cheeks and nestle in his tangled hair. Carefully, they separate the mangled strands from the blindfold so tightly tied around his head. They meticulously undo the knot and slowly draw the satin from his eyes. Rather than finding the ebony locks and ruby eyes of a particular demon, he is greeted by the scarred face a viciously grinning madman surrounded by a mane of silver.

"That was fun, my dear," a macabre voice giggles. "But perhaps we can move along to my game!"

"Oh, way to ruin it, you cad!" Grell seethes, angry but sated. "It was almost _perfect_, you know!"

"Nothing is perfect, my dear. Except death. And me, of course!"

"Yes, soooo perfect," the redhead mutters under his breath.

He is hurriedly pulled up from his comfortable position on the bed before a strange bundle is thrust into his arms.

"Hush up and put that on," the madman grins as he straightens his top hat as if having wild passionate sex with a hat on was perfectly normal. Grell supposed it actually was normal in this case, though he wonders about the strange card the mortician randomly tucks into a magically appearing hatband. "Oh, come now, stop gawking at me and get dressed," Undertaker chides.

Grell finds himself blushing and begins to pull apart his bundle. He almost wishes he hadn't bothered. A blonde wig, a blue dress, and a white apron? Wha-

Grell doesn't get a chance to voice his question before Undertaker's insane laughter fills the room.

"Come, Alice, we have a tea party to attend!"

-=-End-=-

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Yes, we ARE all mad here. Thank you, Lewis Carroll, for corrupting minds everywhere. It was either that title or "Of Manacles and Top Hats" which is just stupid…or is it?

What can I say? I love Undertaker's hat! It's his thing! He's got a hat fetish…Just like I have a "let's chain Grell up and make him scream" fetish. Hee hee. They are total freaks, that's all there is to it.


End file.
